Professional attire

by B.K. Epler

The lower face of a woman in an early 20th-century man's suit with cravat, tie pin and boutonnière
What a drag [CC0] via Wikimedia Commons

Funny the way the suit fits you after you wear it a little, the suit of the professional. 

The suit deflects, the suit bears within it its readiness to brush its own cuff, the suit is game to exchange small talk and drop names, but also concomitantly the readiness to refuse to drop names, to say “Russell Traub? No I don’t know his work,” or “Tony Judt? No I don’t know him.” The suit is armor enough: you are free to not know.

You suit up also in the ability to just let things go by. Don’t pick it up, the suit advises, don’t return the ball: 

An author at lunch saying, “Aww, I wish you’d have taken AFLING IN THE FIELDS, that’s the one that sells, that’s the one that woulda made some money for you.” 

It’s a paywall, but a small one

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